The Things That Go Bump
by Kingswallow
Summary: A few months shortly after England acquires Canada as a new territory and brings him to live in his colonial mansion alongside his twin brother, America, England finds himself having a great deal of difficulty managing his new colony. Canada suffers from nightmares, and England keeps getting awakened in the middle of the night. Something has to change.


**The Things That Go Bump**

When the remnants of the lamplight were blown out into wispy trails of smoke, all sorts of monsters hid in the shadows cast by the moon. During the day they were chased out by the brilliance of the sun and smothered by the voices that filled the lonely spaces of the mansion. It was only at night – when the sizzling of grease on the kitchen stove quieted, when the tumble of feet on the outside deck had been called in for the night, when Arthur, lord of the mansion, finally set aside his evening book and retreated to his chambers – that the monsters began to stir. From their hiding places in the attics eaves and the chilly corners of the basement they would crawl silently into the void that the night had created. If Matthew listened closely, he could almost hear the buzz of activity in the hum of the night air.

Pulsing, thumping, thriving – the darkness was a living, breathing entity that threatened to suffocate him with its very presence. The floor creaked and settled, as if unseen feet were treading upon the boards. _A demon was slinking in the halls. _A hollow wind ghosted through the cracks in the windows as the night breeze rolled across the hills. _A phantom was whispering in his ear. _The mattress screeched pitifully as Matthew shifted in discomfort. _A monster was lying in wait under his bed. _

"It's just the house making a ruckus… it's just the house making a ruckus…"

The feeble reassurance was whispered through sheets drawn up tightly to Matthew's chin. In the crook of his elbow he shuffled his stuffed bear, Kumajiro, closer to his chest. Burrowing his chin into the soft fur of the bear, he mumbled to himself again, "It's just the house making a—"

A large '_pop_' crackled from above. _Something was prowling in the upstairs._ Immediately Matthew hiked the comforter up to the bridge of his nose, making a silent prayer for all of the noises to just _stop._

His desperate little mantra, which Arthur had taught him earlier, hardly seemed a proper defense to spit back against the dark. The darkness swallowed many things, and those words were included. They felt worthless.

Perhaps Matthew might not have had an issue if this house only muttered a tiny sound here or there – but it didn't. The Kirkland Mansion was a cacophony of _noises,_ and lots of them. It creaked, groaned, squeaked, babbled, churned, and hummed. Like the darkness, the house seemed to live and breathe on its own.

Normally, he could attribute any such noises to the rustling of his brother in the bed at the other end of the room, perhaps someone relieving themselves, or even his guardian pacing the house late at night. But he _knew _that Alfred was in the spare bedroom, as he had taken sick with the yellow fever and Arthur separated the two to prevent Matthew from catching ill… and he had already heard Arthur go to bed hours before present.

_That means only one thing…_ the little boy thought, pulling his comforter up farther to his cheeks. Clutching the thin bed sheet in his tight little fists – which since had grown clammy – Matthew's eyes darted back and forth across the room, keen on every little movement and every little noise, real or imagined. Warily, his eyes glanced at the wardrobe. Was that just him, or was the closet door swinging slowly open by some unseen hand? Matthew tried not to notice. He held his breath in preparation. Any second now, they would come and get him. Any moment now. They were creeping closer as his heartbeats ticked by…

He wanted, very badly, to run. Where to didn't matter. But he was petrified. If he ran, the monster under the bed might grab his ankles the moment his feet touched the floor. Matthew's toes curled tightly at the thought, and he pulled the blanket over the crest of his forehead, hiding his eyes from the shadows of the room that seemed to shift, change, and come to life before the flickering of clouds passing by the moon.

On the other hand, if he stayed… well, his situation wasn't much better, was it? Maybe if he stayed underneath the blankets, they might go away...

As if aware he was listening, the noises persisted.

Huddling into a ball, Matthew's heartbeats weighed his options, as one might pluck the petals from a daisy.

One heartbeat. _Stay? _

Two heartbeats. _Go! _

Three heartbeats. _Stay...? _

A tree bough suddenly tapped against his window frame, and for the silence, it might as well have been the crack of a gunshot. _They were right outside his window._

_Go, go, go!_

With a startling burst of speed, Matthew threw back the sheets and tore up from the mattress, landing on the ground with a hearty _thump_, Kumajiro barely hanging on by the end of his arm. Blood singing in his ears, Matthew kicked his feet up and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. "_Arthur!_" He shot out of the bedroom like a firework, pivoting quickly on one foot and skidding through the hallway. Corridors of darkened doorways flickered on by without a second thought as his bare feet thudded against the cold wooden floor, until he reached the end of the very long hallway.

Shivering all over, the darkness seeming to choke him on all sides, he nearly busted through the doorway head-first. Then he realized his _other_ dilemma. A shuddering breath wracked through the boy's chest as he danced in place, the long doorway as imposing as a wall.

Oh, what he would have given to have just reached up and _throttled_ that doorknob. Matthew shuffled from one foot to the other, strangling Kumajiro to his chest.

When he was younger, Arthur would let Matthew scramble up the side of the bed and crawl into the empty space beside him. Just last week, however, he informed Matthew that he was far too old to be sleeping with him now. _"You're of an age, Matthew," Arthur said sternly. "You're far too old to retreat to my room every time you have a nightmare. It's high time that you learn how to put yourself back to bed." _And to prove his point, he had made sure to shut his door tight just before he tucked Matthew and his brother Alfred into bed.

Despite the desperate feeling that niggled its way into Matthew's stomach, he really hadn't believed Arthur. After all, every time he'd had a nightmare, all Matthew had to do was slip into his guardian's bedroom and curl himself into the man's arms. It was as if Arthur had some magical power – the moment Matthew was pressed against that strong chest, the monsters surrounding him would retreat. The monsters feared Arthur, and they never let their mischief cross Arthur's path. So it was the very next night that he'd woken up with a horrible nightmare and came banging down the hall.

It had taken a moment of muffled grumbling and the sound of a mattress squeaking before the door had, miraculously, creaked open. And Matthew had looked up at Arthur with a huge smile of relief.

In the following moment when everything changed: just as he had attempted to slide through the crack in the door, he'd bumped straight into his guardian's legs.

No matter how much Matthew would beg, the Englishmen would simply stand there in the doorway, arms crossed, refusing to let him through. Matthew had looked up at him with wide eyes, begging him, pleading him, promising to eat all of the food on his plate from now on, even going so far as to stomping his foot when all he got was a tight-lipped head-shake in response. Nothing had worked. Moments passed, and Matthew had refused to move, still clinging to the hope that Arthur would give in, that he would save him from the prowling monsters in his room. What Matthew didn't anticipate was that the man was prepared to stand there the whole night if he had to, silently staring the colony down and refusing to yield. Arthur's fortitude could far outlast his, and he was ill-equipped to assuage it. The man watched Matthew carefully as he eventually gave up and was made to turn around and drag his feet back into his dark room, where the monsters buzzed and played in the shadows.

That had been nearly a week ago. Because of it, Matthew went to bed each night, hoping that it would pass dreamlessly. Luckily, he went without nightmares; unluckily, it was because he was so terrified of the dark that it made it impossible to fall asleep. The monsters _knew _that Arthur had drawn a line in the sand, they _knew _that he couldn't run to his room for protection, and they were bolder for it - they didn't need his dreams anymore to travel, they came to him in the dark instead.

That same night, Alfred had been awoken by the commotion of banging feet, and by the time Matthew slunk back to their bedroom, he was wide awake. Like always, Alfred took charge, promising that he would use all of his might to protect his brother from any sort of monster that dared enter their bedroom. Right now, however, Alfred wasn't even there.

Matthew peeked around the caliginous hallway. In the light it seemed to be constricting in on him, like the intake of breath before a sigh. He couldn't go back. Still…

Turning back to face the door, Matthew squirmed uncomfortably and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. The door was heavy-set with a big brass handle, towering above him. He'd bet it was locked, too. The boy reached up and enclosed the doorknob, its metal cool to the touch, but from there he couldn't quite summon the resolution to move.

It would be almost worse to get Arthur's attention only to be turned away than it would to put himself back to bed. He didn't know if he'd be able to stand it. The creaking of the house, however, did nothing to bolster his courage to turn back.

He couldn't go to his brother, either, as Alfred was very sick and needed to sleep. Arthur had forbidden him to go see Alfred until he recovered - for his health and that of his brother's.

Defeated, Matthew's hand dropped from the doorknob.

Placing his faithful bear Kumajiro on the floor beside him, he hugged his knees on the floor beside Arthur's door, curled up, and fought the hot tears burning down his cheeks and the shallow breaths shuddering through his chest. Wary of movement, he scanned the darkness for any pursuit, settling in for a long and restless night.

In the quiescence of his bedroom, Arthur Kirkland twitched awake. Blearily, the heel of his hand rubbed at his dizzy eyes, rousting himself out of a somnolent lull. But even as his eyes squinted wakefully into the darkness, a rush of exhaustion hit him, and he fell back onto the bed with an enervated sigh, completely defeated. "Ugh, oh bugger…" Arthur muttered into his pillow. Eyes half-mast, he dug his chin into his pillow and rested his cheek against the cool sheets, giving an exasperated sort of look at the moon peaking through his window. It was still very late – or very early, depending on how he looked at it. Arthur guessed there were a few more hours until daybreak, at the very least.

As he rolled over to fall back asleep, something out of the scope of his consciousness tugged at him. Arthur froze and craned his neck, not certain what called his attention; then, a moment later, his ears picked up a small sound just pronounced enough to be heard.

Smothering an impromptu yawn into the back of his hand, he propped himself up onto his elbows and rallied his focus, listening.

_There it was again._

Furrowing his eyebrows, Arthur carefully brushed aside the bedcovers and slipped his feet into a pair of slippers at the foot of the nightstand. Moving slowly, his footfalls were silent as he ghosted the way to his door. _Am I just being paranoid? _a fleeting part of him questioned, but he pressed his lips together in a firm line. No – he knew something was amiss.

Gently, the pads of his fingers brushed upon the door. The sound was louder, closer this time, and he could hear the break to the overwhelming quiet muffled through the wall. Soft unevenness of shuddering, damp gasps and broken mewls: someone was crying.

Fully awake, Arthur's hand fell to the doorknob. Without further preamble, the doorknob turned and slanted open with a click, the hallway outside slanting into view. Peaking his head through from the small crack, nearly immediately his eyes caught a quiver of movement off to the side.

Huddled into a ball on the floor was a familiar tousled blonde head of hair, bent over a large stuffed bear that could not have been crushed any tighter into the child's arms.

Suddenly feeling a powerful pinch of concern, Arthur ventured into the dark, "…Matthew?"

Nearly immediately, the boy flinched; however, he stayed where he was.

"Matthew!" Arthur flung open the doorway and rushed to the child's side. "Are you all right?"

When Matthew felt his brother's hands on his shoulders he curled Kumajiro even tighter to his chest, burying his face in the top of his friend's head. He shook his curls fiercely.

"Matthew," he urged, gently squeezing the boy's shoulders. With a hand he eased free Matthew's face from his stuffed toy and willed him to look at him. Arthur felt a cold hand of worry squeezing his heart when he saw a bright red nose and shiny cheeks. "Matthew, what's wrong?"

The look of utter concern on Arthur's face only made Matthew's crumble. "I… I…" he tried until his throat closed around him.

Arthur waited for a response, but in time realized he wasn't going to get one. He rubbed his hands on the child's back and gave him a cursory once-over for any sort of injuries. No bumps or bruises, and certainly no blood - _thank God_. The boy's cheeks were hot to the touch. _Not from fever, perhaps because of… _Arthur wiped the tears from underneath his brother's eyes. _Ah. _

Accounting for the lack of injury or sickness and the deep level of upset, it didn't take a genius to figure out what happened.

Letting his young charge go, Arthur stood and let out heavy sigh. He felt exhausted again. Running a hand through his hair, he took in the frail-looking child still maintaining his defensive position against the wall.

"Matthew," Arthur sighed again. He thought they'd been over this. "It was just a dream. Go back to bed."

Swallowing hard, Matthew raised his head enough to speak. "Not a dream," he mumbled.

"No? Then what is it?"

From somewhere in the house, the floorboards sighed and popped sharply. _They're here! _Matthew jumped and pointed down the hall with alarm, "There!" before ducking his head back behind Kumajiro.

Unimpressed, Arthur followed the boy's field of vision down the hall. The twins often spoke of evil creatures that came out at night, but he doubted that they actually had met real ones — encountering only the monsters of their own imagination. He surveyed the area just in case, but there was nothing, as he expected.

Still, his younger brother looked quite shaken, and Arthur had to wonder what he saw with a child's eyes. Nevertheless, this fuss was ridiculous.

Arthur dismissed the noise with a wave of the hand, breaking the silence and wagging his finger. "Oh Matthew, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand… oh never mind. Look, Matthew, just like people, houses can make noises too," Arthur reasoned with him in a 'see-here' manner. "Sometimes we take a while to settle down and go to sleep ourselves, and it's the same thing with the house. There is nothing in here that can hurt you." Although he was frustrated, he did feel sorry for the child, gentling his voice at the end. "It's nothing to be afraid of."

Hiding his full pout behind Kumajiro's head, Matthew wiped his eyes and needled him with an accusing look. Wasn't his guardian supposed to a wizard? How could he not see what he saw?

Arthur met the challenge in the boy's eyes with ease, staring him down. "Now, I sympathize with how you feel, but I believe we have already discussed this before. Go back to bed, Matthew."

Those were the five words that Matthew didn't want to hear. His heart gave a jump at the very thought, and he cringed into his bear. He looked between the hallway and his guardian and back again with rising panic. He knew this was going to happen, he _knew _and yet —

"_No_."

That word came so suddenly and so uncharacteristically that Arthur physically startled, and he almost doubted hearing Matthew correctly. His jaw dropped open. That word was said softly and unfamiliarly, but it was still there: and it was spoken without being mumbled through a stuffed bear. Only Alfred had ever had the gall to say "no" to him, and although he wielded that word with startling frequency, Matthew had never so much as made a dirty look at him.

"Excuse me?" Arthur demanded, more incredulous than angry, and it showed.

Nevertheless, the look of hot determination — the one that transformed Matthew into the spitting image of his brother, in countenance along with his face — bled away. He averted his eyes and whispered another "no," although it came out as an inaudible croak more than anything.

Stunned, Arthur took some time to gather his wits. Regaining his composure after a few moments like a true Englishman, he crossed his arms and planted his feet.

"Matthew, that was not a request."

Matthew had gathered his defenses. He didn't have the guts to say no to him again, but he wasn't moving, even if his life depended on it - _which it certainly did! _he cried inwardly. He gave another little shake of his head and settled into his spot on the floor.

Arthur's brows raised in a dangerous answer to the boy's challenge.

"Matthew, _now._"

Normally Matthew did his best to listen to Arthur as well he could. Whereas his brother enjoyed playing the game of testing Arthur's boundaries and seeing how much he could get away with, Matthew preferred instead the path of least resistance. Alfred loved getting to do what he wanted and although he did his best not to get caught, he'd rather get his way and then pay for it later than remove the troublemaking from the equation entirely — like what Matthew did.

This time though, he was not going to give up. He wasn't going to move. He tried to imitate one of the many stone statues he'd seen. He desperately wanted nothing more than to have Arthur pick him up and carry him into his room, but he was learning that when Arthur said something, he meant it: even the word "no" — _especially_ the word "no." Still, if hoping for Arthur's attention was too much to hope for, at the very least, he was _not_ going back to his room.

Arthur noticed the resolute set of the boy's shoulders, and was intrigued and irritated in equal measure to note that this was one of the few time's Matthew had ever seemed confident about anything.

Peering out the window, Arthur groaned. It was still early in the morning and he wanted to either go back to bed or fetch his robe from his room. The chill in the house was making his feet cramp.

With an annoyed scowl, Arthur considered that the same cold that was putting him in discomfort could make Matthew catch a chill if their challenge ended up lasting the night — which it very well could, considering their current standing. If this was a tantrum it would have passed by now; he had no intention of letting both boys be sick and devoting the rest of his night to waiting out one of Matthew's few - if fierce - stubborn strikes.

Gesticulating widely in frustration, Arthur muttered, "That's _it!_" and swept up the boy and his bear in a click of his tongue. Matthew allowed himself a moment of hope - that Arthur would open his door and the two of them would lull off to sleep in the sanctuary of his bedroom. It took only a moment to foment such powerful relief and another moment to tear it all down when Arthur traversed the hall.

_No, no, no! _he could only cry to himself, Arthur's bedroom door shrinking away and their path determined to the only place he couldn't bear to be.

Arthur pulled him in tighter as he struggled through the bedroom door. He made to deposit the young colony onto his bed only to find that Matthew's ankles were interlocked and the arms around his neck constricted.

"Matthew, what are you…" Arthur wrapped his hands around his little brother's ribs, intent on setting him down on his bed and tucking him in. When he moved to pry him off, Matthew didn't budge. The grip around his neck tightened. Groaning, – _it was far too late for these shenanigans_, he thought – Arthur tried again. "Oh, stop this foolishness now…" But again, no amount of effort could unwind the boy from his neck. It was actually starting to make his back ache. The little boy was just like his brother, possessing a large, untapped reservoir of strength that he neither knew he wielded nor knew how to control. "So help me, if you wake up your brother with—" Arthur was sure he could hear his vertebrae crack as the boy emitted a breathless keen, burrowing himself into his brother's chest. Lips pressed together in determination, he pulled forcefully at the weight on his chest. "Let me g—_Matthew!_"

All at once, fearing his arms would slip, the Canadian boy yanked as hard as he could on his older brother in a defiant effort to hang on. With Arthur's drowsiness to be accounted for, as well as the boy's brute strength, both were sent toppling onto the small twin bed with a sudden cry of shock.

_Oh, you are so in trouble if you wake up Alfred…_

"Matthew!" Arthur reprimanded, his tolerance beginning to wear thin. He always tried to be understanding with the little ones, he truly did. But he was not a patient man, and between the late hour and the unusual recalcitrant behavior of his youngest brother, he was starting to get aggravated.

In the fall, Matthew had only tightened his hold on his brother's neck, clinging to him like a monkey would to a tree.

In this state, Arthur hadn't much choice other than to admit that this — whatever he was trying to accomplish —wasn't working. He was just getting more annoyed, and the little one was only getting more anxious. Quickly switching gears, he decided he needed to do something, fast, before this became a regular occurrence. Above all, he'd like to know _what was making his colony so damn anxious._

"Matthew, let go!" Arthur gasped, trying to loosen the boy's grip. The hold on his neck was nearly crushing him. "Let go, we're going to have a talk!"

The response was almost blinding. Arthur's neck cracked and his eyes went starry for a moment.

"Not that kind of talk! Just… just let's _talk._"

There was a pregnant pause, and Arthur only hoped it meant there was a change in the wind. Slowly, the grip around his neck loosened, and Matthew slumped off him and scooted far to his brother's side. Sighing in relief, Arthur inched his way up and one hand went to massage the muscles in his neck.

Exasperated — and feeling close to death — Arthur took a moment to collect himself. When he did, he made sure that his tone was moderated and looked his little brother directly in the eye.

"Matthew," he asked, "_What _is wrong?"

Crossing his legs, Matthew pulled Kumajiro into his lap and used him as a shield.

"Oh no," he said firmly, demanding the boy's attention. "This talk includes a conversation. A conversation means there is more than one participant. I need you to tell me what's wrong if you want any hope of me making it better."

Still thoroughly encased in his own fears, Matthew found it difficult to talk. But Arthur seemed willing to hear him out…

"Is it nightmares, then?" he prompted.

Matthew shook his head. "No."

"Then what?"

"Monsters," he admitted quietly.

Arthur almost smacked himself on the forehead. _Of course_. He had asked that before, hadn't he? A fear of the dark was a normal childhood thing, wasn't it? He could hardly remember back to his own childhood, but this struck a cord.

"Matthew, there's no such thing as—" Arthur hesitated. He knew, from previous experience, that monsters did, in fact, exist. He's summoned them on occasion and even called upon his friends in aid against them. Considering how the past few weeks had gone, Arthur figured that telling the boy the truth was not the right course of action - it would only make him hysterical. Lying, however, and trying to abate his fears had been equally as useless a countermeasure against such fears.

Gauging from his young colony's expression, Matthew didn't want to hear either version. _What can I do to make him feel better, then? _he wondered. Then it hit him. Even if he was inept with parental instincts, he still could…!

"All right, Matthew," he agreed. "What can I do to make you feel safe, then?"

The colony's eyes lit up for a moment, and Arthur cut him off shortly, "—apart from allowing you to crawl into my bed every time you are afraid," he said wryly.

Matthew's face fell, and this time, it produced a wicked sting in Arthur's chest.

"How about this," he amended, his voice dropping into a low tone of caution. "What did… what did Francis do to make you feel safe?"

Matthew's eyes lit up in awe, and he studied his guardian with a few measured breaths to be absolutely certain of what he just heard. As the seconds ticked by, Arthur didn't repeat himself, seeming under a great deal of difficulty and with an expression of discomfort that Matthew had never even seen before. Instead, he turned his memory back to his time with Francis, his first older brother…

Now that Matthew thought about it, Francis's house never seemed to scare him the way Arthur's did. He had the occasional nightmares, of course, but Francis took away all of his unease. It had something to do the way Francis spoke to him, softly, and the way that he took his attention away from the rest of the world. It always seemed to drown out any fears or doubts.

Matthew gave the stuffed bear in his arms another hug. Even his best friend, Kumajiro, was a gift from Francis after a lengthy voyage to France.

_"__Do you like it, Mathieu?" _Francis had asked. _"It was made from one of the city's toymakers in my country. The same man makes all the toys for little princes and princesses!" _The memory made him smile.

Matthew didn't belong to Francis anymore, he knew. Nevertheless, the bear was a reminder of his French roots — and even though he was no longer allowed to see him, it did remind Matthew of his former older brother. It was as if Francis was watching over him, just like he used to when they lived together.

"Well…" he began warily, before warming up to the conversation, "Big brother Francis would sometimes bring in sweets after he tucked me into bed at night. He would sit with me until I fell asleep or… he would read to me if I couldn't." Matthew tried to think of when he would have bad dreams—or swore he heard something in the closet. "Oh! And he would stay with me, sometimes if I was scared, and sing to keep the monsters away."

Arthur didn't even catch him on the "big brother" remark; even with the boy's leftover tears, his expression fairly glowed when he talked about his life with Francis.

To his ears, Francis had — despite all evidence to the contrary — given Matthew something that he needed to make him feel secure. He had spoiled him, no doubt, had likely given in to any demand and cuddled and cosseted the boy until he was pink in the face. If Francis was in his shoes, he likely would have allowed the young colony to snuggle alongside him and they would have been asleep long before now.

Arthur considered this.

When he was young, he became of an age where his mother no longer tolerated him slipping into bed with her for any reason - be it nightmares, a storm, or trouble with his siblings. She said that he was simply too old, and part of becoming a man included self-control and the ability to put himself back to bed without anyone's help. He begged and pleaded, but Albion was a lady of iron, and she never yielded. She would stand in his way until he turned around and trudged back to his room. That was simply the way it was, and there was no use fighting it; all arguing did was make his mother irritated and himself more exhausted for his efforts. In time, things got easier.

Arthur wondered if he was relenting too easily to his brother - if what he was doing was more harm than good. Did indulging Matthew's fit only mean that he was going to have a harder time handling him in the future when he came to him with a nightmare or a fear of the dark? Would this become a weekly occurrence - even nightly? Was giving in now really going to be worth it in the long run?

When Arthur was a child, parents valued a firm hand above all other things as the way to make children mindful and well-behaved. When his mother made a decision, no amount of crying or negotiating would breed different results.

He admired his mother; he thought she had a very practical approach to raising children, and since she had four rowdy babes to contend with, she had no room for inefficiency. She set boundaries and laid down the law when they were tested; he knew where the limits were and it made it easy to differentiate between right and wrong. In many ways, he tried to emulate her approach to child-rearing when it came to managing his colonies (in the stints he was with them). Perhaps he was failing miserably, and that's why he experienced troubles with the colonies; he was still so inconsistent. Still, sometimes Arthur wondered if a bit of compassion mixed in with sternness would be both effectual and beneficial.

With Alfred, although the child had a bold and — at times — difficult personality, at least Arthur had been his only brother. He was used to the man's style and personality, and there was very little friction even when there was disagreement. Matthew, however, was different; he had been fostered under Francis for a long time before he was acquired by the British Empire, and it was Arthur's understanding that Matthew was fond of his first big brother. What had transpired between the France and Canada was irrelevant; there was clearly a special bond between Francis and Matthew that politics hadn't spoiled. There was a relationship and a history between the two that Arthur may never be privy to, and certainly not one that he could not erase or supplant.

For this reason, some things were a great deal for difficult for Matthew than they were for Alfred. Because of this, Arthur admonished himself to bear it in mind for the future. It didn't mean that he would treat Matthew any differently or coddle him over his brother, but a little empathy might go a long way in building strong relationship with his colony.

Perhaps a compromise was in order.

Arthur figured that a bedtime story wouldn't be an issue. He already tucked both boys in, and he supposed that lingering for an extra half hour or so wouldn't be much of an issue. _Anything important has usually winded down by that part of the day, _anyway. Singing, well… singing was definitely out. And sweets before bed was not even worth dignifying. Still, a vocal part of his mind told him that Francis, at least, had made the boy feel loved and protected. He was still a part of Matthew's thoughts, and he carried around that toy he had been given everywhere he went.

"I have an idea," Arthur offered suddenly. "Something that will make us both happy."

Matthew looked up in surprise, but before he could say anything, Arthur was up and already making for the door. "Wait there a moment."

Matthew wrapped the comforter around himself, sitting up in his self-made cocoon. He was still on-guard for whatever manner of beast was lurking around the house, but the prospect of his eldest brother returning must have kept them at bay. Minutes passed, and for a few frightening moments Matthew wondered if he had been tricked; if Arthur had used this chance to slip away, never to return, and leave him to put himself back to bed.

As if to resolve his fears, Arthur returned shortly — this time in a bathrobe and a long, pointed hat. _Was that a wizard's hat? _Matthew wondered.

"Now," Arthur pulled a gnarled wand out of his robe pocket and settled alongside of him. "let's get to it."

"G-get to what?" Matthew asked, burning with curiosity but also anxious at the spark in the man's eye.

Arthur shared with him a secret smile. "I'm going to cast a spell to protect you."

_Could he really do that? _The boy sucked in a breath. "What kind of spell?"

"A ward. And a powerful one. Along with something… extra."

With a wave of his wand, Arthur closed his eyes in concentration and initiated a low, strange chant. Although Matthew could not understand the words themselves, they were as alien and eerie as the various noises of the house, all making the hair on his arms stand on end. Arthur called, and the house answered, creaking and groaning. The two seemed to share a common language, speaking back and forth and then in unison, forming a chorus that made the walls hum and tremble with the beat. Other strange noises seemed to join in the senseless symphony and the moonlight spilling onto the floor warped and danced into strange shapes upon the walls. The lights and the noises waltzed together around the room in a crazy storm of energy, building and building until a great cracking noise passed through the room and everything fell to silence.

Matthew grabbed at his bear in fear, hiding half his face behind the toy's large head.

Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped with an almighty wave of Arthur's wand.

At first, nothing seemed to happen. Arthur had gone still, the point of his wand staring Matthew down from behind his bear. Matthew held his breath with the rest of the room; it went out again as he felt something growing rapidly warmer in his arms, and with a little jump, he collapsed back against the headboard of his bed.

Breathing and shuffling broke the silence in the room. Matthew blinked three times before rubbing them, and blinking again.

His bear… Kumajiro… was moving?

Sure enough, when Matthew leaned in to get a closer look, he noticed that the twinkle in the bear's eye wasn't just the sheen of the glass. His friend's nose was dewy and he was turning his head and blinking in wonder at the room. When he felt a gaze upon him, he met Matthew's gaze and his eyes dawned in recognition. His muzzle turned up in a bearish smile.

_My friend is alive! He's alive!_

Matthew launched himself at his friend, so familiar and yet so new at the same time. His fur was real, and he was so warm—like a real animal! Wrapping his arms tightly around Kumajiro, he hugged him for a long while before coaxing the small, white bear into his lap, petting and fussing over him.

Arthur smiled at the look of wonder in the little boy's face, turning his stuffed toy around and around.

"Is that any better?"

If there was one look of pure love that could have redeemed Arthur of all past sins, that one was it.

"Now Kumajiro will protect you as you've protected him," he chuckled, and then gesticulated around the room. "You will find that he will make an excellent guard… provided that any monsters can manage to get past the barrier around this room. What do you think, Matthew?"

Almost too afraid to hope, Matthew held his breath and glanced around the room, keeping his ears wide open. To his shock, there was not a noise—not a single one! Matthew gasped. _Arthur can do magic after all! He is a wizard! _he rejoiced. The house felt still and quiet, just the way he liked it; and now, he had his own living, breathing friend to keep him safe, always — even when Alfred wasn't there.

Matthew was feeling optimistic for the first time in a long time. He wanted to express to Arthur how much this meant to him, but he couldn't get out a word.

Rather than pressing him, Arthur merely took in the grateful look and felt as though he had been repaid. "You are most welcome." With a tired smile, he patted the boy's head—and Kumajiro's stuffed one.

"Now, it really is getting late. We both must be getting off to bed…" Arthur made to slide off the edge of the twin bed, but he was stopped short at the sight of the little boy clutching his stuffed bear. _Isn't that just a picture, _he thought, and then felt his resolve cave in once more. Grabbing a spare pillow, he made a small space for himself up at the head of the bed and settled in. He lit an oil lamp, grabbed the nearest book from the nightstand and laid it upon his lap. _Oh, to hell with it._

"Well, since it's already so late, I suppose just one bedtime story wouldn't hurt, would it?"


End file.
